


Nocturnal Creatures

by Shampain



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1930s, F/M, Other, Southern Gothic, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), cemetery sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: Deep in the American South, during the height of Prohibition, Gabriel takes Beelzebub for a ride - or is it the other way around? Originally written for and published in theFlaming Like Anythingzine.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 56





	Nocturnal Creatures

The car was going fast, far too fast. The roads were not built for it – barely more than packed dirt in places, loose gravel in others, with holes peppering themselves along the way like craters on the moon. All a car like that needed was a wet patch of leaves to send the driver barrelling into the trees, if the driver had not been the Archangel fucking Gabriel, who drove with the reckless abandon of someone for whom consequences never did apply.

The head beams illuminated the tangle of vegetation lining the roads, glanced off the curved eyes of the nocturnal animals huddling in the dark waiting to pounce or pass by; most of them were predators. The radio went in and out in a soft, fuzzy echo, unusual even on that lonely stretch of road. Activity, likely, of the paranormal sort. Countryside like this was steeped in ghosts. But then the headlights lit up the slim and uncompromising figure of Beelzebub at the side of the road, thin and threatening like a scarecrow, and Gabriel hit the brakes, skidding to a stop right before the road curved to the west.

Reaching over, he opened the passenger door.

Beelzebub’s soles crunched beneath gravel as they walked towards the car. It was a Rolls Royce coupe. Under the moonlight its paint – ivory, they guessed – held an ethereal glow. It was the kind of car driven by gangsters and businessmen and movie stars, more likely to be seen in New York than way down south, speeding its way through the countryside. They should have suspected Gabriel would show up in something flashy.

There was a loud and lonely call, somewhere in the darkness. An animal or a man, Beelzebub couldn’t say; but a beast, certainly, alone in the night. They had to admit, this country was one of their favourite places to go whenever they found themselves topside.

It was dark in the car, but Beelzebub did not need light in order to see. “You look like the devil,” they remarked, balancing an elbow on the open door, bending their head to peer inside. There was a jar of moonshine sitting in the passenger's seat.

Gabriel was dressed in a pale linen suit, his hair fashionably slicked back. A watch gleamed on his wrist. Admittedly, it was a good look. Beelzebub enjoyed Gabriel’s attempts at perfection, because it made wrecking him all the more satisfying. “You would know,” he said. “Are you getting in or not?”

Beelzebub climbed in, picking up the jar of moonshine and swinging the door shut. In the car, so near to him, Beelzebub was reminded of the stifling closeness that was Hell, though this was better. Here the air was scented with the faint electricity that followed Gabriel everywhere. If Beelzebub reached out, and almost touched him, they would feel the prickle of static, that tension in the air right before they made contact.

They placed the jar securely between their knees and took out a cigarette case from their jacket pocket. Gabriel leaned over to light one for them, without a lighter. “Where are you taking me, then?” they asked, as a plume of smoke began to fill the car. They opened the jar of moonshine to take a sip, felt it burn its way down their throat.

“To church,” he said.

It had been abandoned long before it had burned down. Only its shell remained, a crisp and blackened skeleton that held no beauty, though from the side part of the remains looked a bit like a sad, lonely cross. They walked, skirting the property line, as Beelzebub could not pass through it. No human had knelt and prayed there for years, but hallowed ground remained hallowed ground.

Beelzebub was surprised to see, as they walked along the edge of the cemetery, that some graves had bundles of fresh flowers. Easier to love a lost one than worship an absent God. “America is a lost cause anyway,” Gabriel said, when they brought it up, talking around his own cigarette. He did not drink or eat, but he smoked anything that came his way. “This whole country will burn before the end.” He didn’t seem bothered. He probably felt Heaven had better chances focusing its attention elsewhere.

They had done this off and on ever since the early years. Interrupting each other, testing each other. It was a competition, yes, but most of all it was a game, and it was _fun_. Beelzebub sniped and insulted, jeered and tempted, while Gabriel showered them in kindness and grace and foolish conversation paired back-to-back with cutting observations of the universe. For better or worse, they were the representation of Heaven or Hell for the other, and they both had to keep up appearances, though every now and then they were... derailed.

Gabriel had a weakness for Beelzebub: they perceived an odd beauty in the world that cast them in a softer, near-ethereal light for him, penetrating beneath his layers of bullshit. As for Beelzebub, they unfortunately could not resist the fact that the angel was more devious than he ever let himself appear. He worked for God, that was true. He was probably Her most dangerous employee.

A prickling occurred at the base of Beelzebub’s skull, the beginning of a shiver that ached to trace its way down their spine. The jar was nearly empty, and they both leaned against the part of the fence that was still standing, gazing out across the cemetery. The tombstones came out of the ground at all angles, having shifted in the unsteady ground.

“You’ve never been _in_ a cemetery, have you,” Gabriel remarked.

Beelzebub drank the last of the moonshine, wiping their mouth with the back of their sleeve. “Nope,” they said. They drew their arm back and threw the jar out across the graves, getting a good arc in before it plummeted. It made an impossibly small noise as it smashed.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh, sorry,” they said, feigning innocence. The moonshine burned inside of them, loosened their limbs. A single jar of hard-proofed liquor was not enough to get the demon prince drunk, but it was enough to set a spark inside of them. “You don’t like littering, do you?”

The sound of nighttime – the chirps and creaks of the insects and the trees, an unending buzz that reminded Beelzebub of their flies down in Hell, but gentler – overtook the conversation. Beelzebub gazed wordlessly out at the plots, until they finally turned, leaning back against the fence and glancing up at Gabriel. They were unsurprised to find him looking at them.

“Are we alone?” they asked.

Gabriel answered by taking a step towards them and dipping his head down to theirs. It was a smooth and uninterrupted movement, but there was the faintest pause before their lips touched, that hesitation he always seemed to have no matter what the situation. Gabriel was wary of anything he could not control, including his own desires, but Beelzebub had yet to have him turn them down.

There was something like a spark, a pulse that was almost painful that lit itself in Beelzebub's stomach. They reached up, wrapping an arm firmly around the back of his neck, dragging him down and pulling him closer. The night was warm but he was warmer, and Beelzebub wanted to know if he burned.

Then, very suddenly, Gabriel was pulling away. The moment of confusion they felt gave him enough time to bend, wrap his arms around their knees, and hoist them up.

“What-”

“You’ve never been in a cemetery before.”

“Put me down!”

“No, that will hurt,” he explained, patiently, as if they were a child. And it was true – Gabriel was now crossing the cemetery with Beelzebub clutching his shoulder, nearly but not quite able to keep their spine straight without something to hold onto. For a moment they considered twisting his ear in revenge, but then they _would_ get dropped, and that would be no fun at all.

Beelzebub reached down instead and dug their nails into his back. He hissed and jogged them a bit, but they didn’t let go, and they laughed. He was always a bit chaotic. “I guess being carried around by an _Archangel_ is something to be proud of,” they teased, unkindly.

“Oh, anything for a friend,” he said, in a mild tone that could have been earnest; more likely he was being an asshole. They couldn’t see his face and know for sure. To be safe, Beelzebub banged their fist against his shoulder. Annoyed or fond. Could be anything.

“You’re a bastard,” they said, confidently.

Then his voice went deeper, darker, so soft that maybe they misheard him, but knew they hadn’t. He said, “I won’t drop you, you know.”

Beelzebub squirmed in his grasp, but only so that they could turn and put their mouth to his neck. “Better not,” they warned, pressing their teeth to the soft spot underneath his earlobe, beside the ridge of his jaw.

There was only one place Gabriel appeared confident to set Beelzebub down at, and that was a single, lone monument, several feet high, only just beginning to list to the side. Placed there, perhaps, by some wealthy family man whose children had scattered as soon as the stock market crashed. Beelzebub didn’t care, though, because as soon as they were able to get their feet down – balanced on one of the sculpted ridges, several inches up and safe from the holy ground – their attention was suddenly taken by Gabriel opening up their jacket, working on the buttons of their shirt.

It was strangely dizzying but powerful, perched there on the monument, the presence of hallowed earth beneath them. Beelzebub never _had_ been in a cemetery, they were decided they liked it. Maybe it was a hazy effect of the moonshine, and the moon, and Gabriel's touch.

Beelzebub gripped the back of Gabriel’s head, twisting fingers into his immaculate hair, and dragged him forward for another kiss first. The monument gave them more height, and they wanted to take advantage of that before they got sidetracked. Just kissing Gabriel had its own satisfaction, a way of competing with him while still giving something up.

He pushed them back against the stone and Beelzebub lost balance for a moment, slipping down a few inches, until Gabriel pinned them in place. They didn't bother trying to straighten themselves, just leaned back and began to undo their pants. He saw what they wanted, sliding his hand down between their legs.

Beelzebub hissed through their teeth. Gabriel's shoulders were strong; they clutched at the muscle, dug their thumbs against the hard ridge of his collarbone beneath the suit. His _fingers_ , though. Beelzebub bit the inside of their cheek, shuddered and twitched their hips, did their best not to moan.

“Come here,” Gabriel breathed, and suddenly Beelzebub found themself jostled forwards, his free hand working around to press at the small of their back. Beelzebub caught themself against his chest, a litany of insults and complaints on their tongue, but he took advantage of the new position to really press and rub his fingers against them, rough and insistent, and instead they gasped out in surprise.

They wrapped their arms around his neck, and he pressed close to them, pinning them against the statue. They made a noise in their throat when he stroked their clit, and gasped _fuck_ once he had his fingers inside of them. Their faces were so close together that every now and then Beelzebub ended up kissing him, just because. Because, _why not_. That was how this whole cursed dance had started in the first place.

They shifted and he pressed close, almost painfully so, but it was that or lose balance again, tumble to the ground. It would not harm Beelzebub, but it would hurt, and the threat of it was a strangely illicit presence. With holy ground beneath them and Gabriel's body against them, they felt trapped, and it was delicious.

While he had unbuttoned their shirt and bared their breasts, Gabriel was still immaculate, the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat pressing coldly against their chest. Each wriggle and shift, each passing moment, created friction, but it wasn't enough. They dug their nails into the back of his head and he let out a surprised sound. “I want your cock,” they demanded against his mouth, and he bit down on their bottom lip. They hissed, the pain intensifying the tension they were feeling, but they weren't about to complain, since he had started for his belt. They quickly kicked down their own pants and briefs, deciding that if Heaven or Hell caught them bare-assed and fucking in the cemetery, well, there were worse ways to go.

The edges of the monument dug into their back, and Gabriel's cock was inside of them. The angel's lips were on their ear. “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed, sounding strained, and Beelzebub laughed.

“I want you to come inside me this time,” they breathed, bumping their nose against his, forcing him to meet their gaze. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. Beelzebub didn't have to do anything sometimes, it seemed, and yet the angel could be so easily undone. He was beautiful. Sinfully beautiful.

“Good,” he said.

Whenever Gabriel touched them he never left a single mark. Even as Beelzebub clawed and bit, delighting in the idea of leaving a signature, he was strong and surprisingly competent with every touch, only ever exerting the right amount of pressure. But as they both shifted again, Beelzebub lost balance and they skidded a little closer to the ground, and Gabriel only snapped his hips harder, dragging them back and forth against the stone. Beelzebub felt the scrape of skin through their jacket, maybe even drawing blood. Gabriel's hands never caused harm, but his actions always did. He hiked their leg over his hip, deepening the angle, and Beelzebub moaned loudly into the night.

They worked a hand between them, sliding their fingers between their folds, rubbing insistently over their clit in time with the thrust of his cock inside of their cunt. Their other hand gripped at his jacket, threatening to tear the fabric. “ _Yes_ , like that,” they gasped, raising their voice over his own, to make sure he heard them; make sure he didn't flag, didn't dare stop. “Yes... like _that_... _fuck_ , _yes_...”

When Beelzebub came they clutched at him even as they bucked, tightening around him, for a moment completely giving up on supporting themself. They sagged against Gabriel as he continued to fuck them, blissfully riding along. When he came Beelzebub managed to get their left foot firmly against the monument for support as he leaned against them, practically boneless. Gabriel, so strong and rigid and unflappable, who terrified the smarter half of Hell, made weak.

“Put me down,” they panted.

“Nnmph,” he replied. “Told you I wouldn't drop you.”

“Shut up.”

He lowered them carefully, Beelzebub touching both bare feet to the stone (they had lost their shoes at some point, with their pants). Beelzebub pulled him down for another kiss – not sentimental, not at all, but enthusiastic. Gabriel was never a waste of time when they did this sort of thing.

“You'd think if I can't touch holy ground, I shouldn't be able to touch you,” they said, tracing a fingertip over his bottom lip, watching as he nipped at the offending digit. “Do you know why I think you can fuck me?”

“Why?”

“Because you're not really holy,” they said, exhaling out a bit of a laugh.

Gabriel's eyes flashed at them, dangerously; and then they cleared. He shook his head. “You're good,” he commented, grudgingly. “Wrath, indeed.”

“You're an easy target.”

Gabriel smirked, then leaned forward, seizing a kiss from Beelzebub rather than giving one. It was rough, and controlling, and Beelzebub was taken so off guard that by the time they had recovered enough to fight back, Gabriel had drawn away. “And you're flushed,” he said.

Beelzebub huffed.

“Let's go, then.”

They took a minute to sort themselves out, Beelzebub watching with unconcealed pleasure as Gabriel tried to fix his hair without a miracle. He failed.

“You could just leave me here,” they remarked, after they had slowly, with all awareness of being watched by him, pulled their clothes back on. “Force me to run as fast as I can through the tombstones...”

“No, I couldn't,” Gabriel said. And he carried Beelzebub, bridal style, back to the edge of the yard, where he did not set them down. Instead he kept going, apparently insistent on carrying them all the way to the car, as if to prove some point or, worse, no point at all.

Beelzebub ran their hand over the back of Gabriel's head, down the slope of his neck. “When the war comes, I'm going to stab you... right... here,” they said, pressing the tip of their index finger against the base of his skull.

Gabriel's mouth twitched. “I bet,” was all he said.


End file.
